Sympathy For The Devil
by DemonSurfer
Summary: Without his memory, he wasn't a threat. Still, should Dib really have to give up his mission just because Zim couldn't remember his? Was it right to sympathize with the devil? Ch 5 up!
1. Please allow me to introduce myself

_"Please allow me to introduce myself_

_I'm a man of wealth and taste_

_I've been around for a long, long year_

_Stole many a man's soul and faith"_

---

It was dark

That was all that he knew at first. It was dark, and he was in pain. Hurting all over, flesh cut and bruised and bleeding. His head felt like it was split in half. The air was thick and clogged with smoke, threatening to smother him with ash before he could take enough into his damaged chest to live. A hacking cough struggled and tore from his throat.

It was a while before a thought crossed his fractured mind. Wearily he struggled to sit up and found that something was laying across his chest, further compressing it. With a groan he pushed it off of his body, the effort almost causing him to pass out again. When the world stopped spinning he looked around at it with dull ruby eyes.

Wherever he was, it was on fire. Antennae pressed flat against his skull as a reflex to the intense heat, even though the nearest fire was several feet away. There were broken chunks of wall and bits of thick cables lying around. One such piece of wall was what had been laying on him. There was one wall still half-standing, a weird pattern on it being slowly consumed by flames. Far above twinkled the cold stars of the night sky.

He groaned again, bending his head forward and almost touching his legs with wilted antennae. His head felt like it was about to split open. Dimly he thought that this made sense, as there appeared to have been an explosion. He was probably lucky to be alive.

So why couldn't he remember being in an explosion?

His breath caught in his throat for a heartbeat, then sped up until he was almost hyperventilating. The thick air caught in his throat again to form a choking sob, and his eyes snapped all the way open.

_He couldn't remember anything._

There was nothing, nothing at _all_, before the moments where he had woken up. Not a name, not a place, no clue to where or who he was. No reason as to why he was laying in the burning hull of a building. Nothing.

A part of his mind tried to deny the truth. His dry mouth opened, and his throat worked a few times to clear away the smoke and ash clogging it.

"I am-" he started, the words harshly whispered by his damaged throat. There was something that came next, something he could very nearly remember being declared. A simple statement of self that he worked furiously to recall. An odd whimper escaped his still open mouth as he came to the realization. _He could not remember his own name_.

He might have sat like that, a figure of dejection half buried in rubble, until the fire burned him alive. However, this was not to be. His sensitive antennae picked up the sound of coughing coming from somewhere other then himself. Someone else was in the building with him. Someone that might know him.

With a weird cry he lurched to his feet, collapsing back onto the ground as his right leg refused to support his weight. A quick inspection of it told him why; it was broken. Whimpering at this new agony layered upon existing agonies, he was forced to crawl across the wreckage. A part of him that remembered a former sense of self was embarrassed at the action he was taking, but he replied that a sense of self was useless without a self to defend. So it was crawling that he went across the floor, whimpering whenever his right leg was scraped over anything. The going was slow, and his abused body protested the action. Indeed, he was about to pass out again when he discovered the other body.

Gasping, choking on the smoke-clogged air, he inspected the person laying in font of him. They had two arms and two legs and a head and a torso, just like him. However, it was different, too. Self-consciously he inspected the exposed skin of his right hand where his glove had torn; green compared to peach. The hand raised to rub the smooth skin between his eyes and on one side of his head where the other had a fleshy nub and a flap of skin. Still, there was no one else for him to compare to lying around in the rubble. This person would just have to do.

One antenna cocked as he titled his head, eyes half-shutting in exhaustion and pain. He felt as though he was about to collapse. One hand drifted over the other's face absently and came back coated in something sticky. He inspected the dark red goo curiously, then the body it came from. The other was bleeding.

A part of his mind panicked at the thought. What he remembered was limited, basic, but he knew bleeding was bad. The other might even bleed to death, leaving his questions unasked and unanswered. Responding to the unconscious request, a mechanical arm slid out of the metal thing on his back. The arm was holding several rolls of bandages.

He blinked, but took the bandages anyway. As soon as the sat roll was in his hand, the arm withdrew with a snap. He jumped, but when nothing more happened he shrugged and began trying to wrap the injured body lying in front of him. A part of him, the part that was beginning to call itself an ego, found this action repulsive, but he could not remember why. That part of his memory was wiped blank, just like the rest of his mind. Still, it meant that this person was familiar to him, which meant that they probably knew who he was.

Green claws ceased moving for a moment, a bandage gripped in one. He gave the unconscious other a somber, almost mournful look as he glanced over their body. Tired ruby eyes half closed, he spoke in a strained, pitiful half-whisper.

_"Who am I?"_

* * *

This fic has been brought to you by the letter 8 and the number pork. The song "Sympathy for the Devil" belongs to the Rolling Stones, no matter how many bad covers of it are out there. Seriously, if you know where I can download a free copy done by the Stones, I will love you.

Heavily inspired by the fic **You and Me** by Dancing Feather. If you can't tell, this is Zim we're talking about here. The description in this chapter was influenced by chapter 9 of **Finale** by Marie and a flashback in chapter 5 of **Glass Wings** by MistressMoonDemon.

Let's see, it's a multi-chapter, not sure on anything under the heading of romance, and I have no clue where it ends. But hey, what do you expect when I came up with it less than a week ago?

Because rain is too overused and fire is nice.


	2. Your name is Zim

_"And I was 'round when Jesus Christ_

_Had his moment of doubt and pain"_

---

What Dib knew first was a recap of the past twenty-four hours played at a mind-boggling speed. The last two slowed down enough for him to fully inspect them, and to get back in touch with recent memory.

He had gone over to Zim's house, intent on stopping the alien's latest evil plan. He had taken one of his cameras again in the hope that he would finally get some definitive pictures of Zim out of disguise. He had also taken one of his dad's invisibility hoods to get past the gnomes. It was a good plan, up to the point where he was actually inside Zim's house. It was only rotten luck that Dib had been taking off his disguise at the exact same moment that Zim had come up out of the labs hidden under the house. Dib had been spotted, grabbed by one of the computer's mechanical claws, and then subjected to Zim stroking his own ego. Never one to give up, Dib had declared that he would stop Zim's evil plan, which cause the alien to begin yelling something. And then…

Dib frowned to himself. There had been an explosion. Something in the base had blown up, that much he remembered. He must have been knocked unconscious by the blast, because everything after that was a big black blank. He could faintly smell something charred and felt heat from somewhere, so he had to assume that he was still in Zim's base. Maybe if he was lucky, his Irken antagonist had been killed by the explosion. Though he was unsure of his surroundings, Dib was content to just lie where he was and entertain the thought of Zim being killed.

Until someone touched him.

With a yell he sat up, jerking his arm out of the person's grasp as he simultaneously scooted away. It wasn't too hard to figure out who it was that had been touching him, as Dib seriously doubted that Gir would do anything short of trying to eat his arm instead of just picking it up. His hand fumbled in the inner pocket of his trench coat, searching for the extra pair of glasses he always kept in a shatterproof case. Luckily for him they were still there, and he put them on with a shaking hand. His eyes never left the blurry green shape in front of him as his glasses made everything clear again. His hand fell to his side, an unconscious snarl lifting his lip as he glared at the alien sitting only a few feet away from him.

At a glance, Zim appeared to be in worse condition then himself. His normally vibrant green skin was pale, but this could have been from the dusting of ash that coated both of them. His Invader uniform was ripped in several places, and Dib could see the burned and bruised skin underneath. Cuts leaking translucent pink blood dotted his body, the worst Dib could see being a gash across his forehead. The half-lidded look he was giving Dib was odd, but it was the roll of white bandages gripped in his right claw that attracted Dib's attention. Almost automatically he looked down at his arm, half-wrapped in the same white material. For a moment, he was almost tempted to rip the bandages off, but instead settled for glaring at his sworn enemy.

"What the hell are you trying to pull, Zim?" he asked, hugging his arm close to his body protectively. He didn't trust Zim with simply helping him; there had to be an ulterior motive. Maybe the bandages were poisoned or something.

Zim stared at him for a few moments, audibly swallowing as he tried to clear his throat enough to speak.

"I-I was trying to stop the bleeding. That _is_ what you're supposed to do, right?" he responded. His normally loud voice was subdued, muffled somehow by the fire and ash that had ravaged it. His antennae perked hopefully as something occurred to him. "Zim? Is that my name?"

Dib stared at the alien, his brain coming to a crashing halt in a mixture of shock and disbelief. Immediately he began to suspect a trick. Zim was trying to catch Dib off guard somehow.

"I don't know what you're planning, Zim, but I'm going to stop you," he said. Across from him the alien made a truly confused face.

"But, who are you?" he asked. He took on a slightly panicked look, and his next words came out in a jumbled rush. "And what was I planning? Why were you going to stop me? Where are we? What happened? Who-" he broke off into a hacking cough, the strain proving too much for his damaged throat. He still managed to wheeze out his final question, eyes pleading desperately with Dib. "_Who am I?_"

This was no trick. Not even Zim could fake the loss of his memory without slipping up after a few seconds. And if this was an act, it was certainly a convincing one. Dib was halfway into believing it before his rational and often paranoid mind took over. With it came an idea. An idea for a plan. And as he mulled over the idea, it began to form and take shape. Four words defined it.

_He could use this._

He could use Zim's apparent amnesia to his advantage. But for his new plan to work, he would have to get Zim to come home with him. And he was pretty sure that he knew how; by baiting the Irken with the only thing he lacked at the moment: knowledge of himself. And who knew Zim better than anyone else but Dib?

"Are you sure you can't remember anything?" Dib asked. It was a little cruel, yes, but he had to make sure that the alien would be completely dependant on him for information.

Zim shook his head in reply, his throat now too damaged to sustain sound easily. His antennae were pinned flat to his head, making him look so pitiful that for a moment Dib almost felt sorry for him until he remembered who Zim _was_. He had to resist the urge to sneer at the alien. He deserved this.

"Fine. You are Zim," Dib stated, standing up slowly. He cautiously stretched his arms and legs, checking for sprains and fractures in his limbs. He was pleased to discover no such injuries. He turned back to Zim, gazing at the alien coldly though the look was lost in the glare on his glasses from the fire. "For the rest of your questions, you're going to have to wait until after we leave this place."

With that he turned around and began picking his way out of the rubble. He didn't have to look to make sure that Zim would follow him. He knew the alien would come along now, no matter what.

* * *

This chapter has been brought to you by T-Bone's Psychic service! "What's your sign?" "Um…Yield?"

Nothing was really inspired off of anything else in this chapter. Yes, Dib is our antagonist. Did I mention I don't like writing Dib? No? Well, I don't like writing Dib. I'm also forcing myself to stick to third-person limited point of view, which is also becoming a real drag. I think I kept slipping up describing Zim.

Since Invader Sideos asked so nicely, I've decided that this will definitely _NOT_ be a ZADR. Seriously. He threatened to disown me as an Authoress if I did it. As for any other kind of romance, well, I'm not sure. Hardly anything about this story is defined. But there will most likely be no romance. Romance kills my stories.

Because 'Good Morning' is an oxymoron.


	3. My House, not yours

_"Made damn sure that Pilate_

_Washed his hands and sealed his fate"_

---

"Wait!"

Dib heard the alien scramble to his feet, the cry out as he fell down again. Impatient, Dib turned back around and glared at him.

"What's the hold up, Zim?" he asked callously. The question wasn't necessary, though. It was obvious what was wrong.

"M-my leg…" Zim whimpered. He was sitting on the ground, holding the injured limb close to his body. Dib had to stifle a snort; typical Zim to forget that his own leg was broken and then try to stand on it. He was surprised, though, to see the clear liquid collecting on the edges of Zim's eyes. He had never seen the Invader close to tears before, even when he was smashed into the fence outside of his house last Halloween and apparently broke several bones.

Dib sighed, running a hand through his hair. Again he felt something like guilt tug at his heart, but it was easily pushed away as he reminded himself of everything Zim had done to him over the past year and a half. Zim deserved this. But a broken leg was not going to get the alien to Dib's house any faster. He almost told Zim to just use the mechanical legs in the weird metal backpack thing on his back, but remembered with a groan that Zim probably didn't know what they were right now.

Suddenly the Membrane household seemed very far away.

Scowling, he walked back until he was standing over Zim. The alien glanced up at him curiously; body still curled protectively over his broken leg. Without giving himself time to think about what he was doing, he reached down and grabbed Zim's right arm, roughly pulling him to his feet. Before the alien could topple over from trying to balance on one leg, Dib slung Zim's arm over his shoulder. Now Zim had something to lean on, so he didn't have to put any weight on his broken leg. This was going to make the trip home very slow.

"Ready?" Dib asked. Without waiting for a response he started forward. Unprepared, Zim yelped at the sudden movement, hopping furiously on his left foot. Dib kept moving quickly until Zim stumbled, almost knocking them both down. Then he slowed down enough so that the alien could keep up without too much trouble.

They were two blocks away from the burning wreck that used to be the Invader's base when Dib heard Zim clear his throat to speak.

"Um…"he started, his voice uncharacteristically quiet from the abuse his throat had so recently endured. "Who are you?" Dib sighed.

"Dib," he replied stiffly. The other made an "oh" noise. There was silence for a few more blocks, then Zim tried speaking again.

"Where-"

"To my house," Dib interrupted, already expecting the question. This time Zim made no further comment, instead choosing to lean a little bit more on Dib. The junior paranormal investigator gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to shove Zim away from him and into the road. Apparently without any memory of himself Zim was somewhat clingy. It was making Dib uncomfortable. He was thankful that it was a Friday night, and thus there was no one around to see him aiding an undisguised alien.

After what felt like an eternity and one close call involving a car full of drunk college students, Dib was overjoyed to see his own house come into view. The electric security net was on, which meant that Gaz was home. This could be either a good or a bad thing, depending on how well she took to having an alien captive living in the house. It didn't matter; he couldn't keep Zim in the garage as he might find some way to escape. And maybe Gaz would be too curious about the situation to remember to punish her brother.

As Dib got closer to the door, he felt Zim begin to slow down beside him. Curious, he glanced over at the alien. Zim had fixed the Membrane house with an expression that was a mix of contempt and the slightest bit of fear. It seemed like Zim still had some residual feelings about Dib, even if he didn't remember who Dib was.

"Come on," Dib said, rolling his eyes and tugging the Invader along. "You're going to have to go in if you want to get bandaged up." Zim gave Dib a dry look, but allowed himself to be pulled into the house. As soon as they were inside he retrieved his arm from Dib's grasp, hopping over on to the couch and looking around curiously. Dib had other things to worry about, though. The sound of the front door closing had brought out something else in the house.

"Dib."

Dib's head snapped up at the sound of his name. Gaz was standing at the top of the stairs, her usual scowl fixed to her face. She didn't look like she was in a good mood, but in Dib's favor she didn't look like she was mad for any particular reason. She wasn't even looking at him. Instead her squinting eyes were directed at the filthy, injured alien that was currently trying to grab a lamp shaped like Professor Membrane without leaving the couch.

"What is _he_ doing here?" Gaz growled, raising an eyebrow. Dib sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Zim." The Irken looked over at Dib. Dib gestured toward the figure coming down the stairs. "Meet my sister, Gaz" Zim stared at Gaz for a moment, then shrugged and went back to what he was doing. Dib sighed again.

"I asked you a question, Dib," Gaz reminded him. Her voice growled a little, wordlessly warning him that she was being ignored.

"Something exploded while I was over at his base," he explained. "The explosion must have messed something up in his brain, because he doesn't remember anything. He doesn't even know that he's an alien."

"And you brought him _here _because…?"

Dib's only reply was a shrug. He didn't want either Zim of Gaz to know of his fledgling plan. He watched her digest the information. Finally she opened one amber eye to give her brother her trademark 'glare into the soul'. To Dib it felt as though she was reading his mind. She looked at him for a long moment before closing her eye again.

"Don't do anything stupid, Dib," she said finally. Dib gaped at her. He quickly shut his mouth and gave her his best reassuring grin.

"Come on Gaz, I'm not going to do anything stupid," he said, a little too cheerfully. Gaz glared at him for a few seconds longer, stretching the silence into an awkward pause. A few beads of sweat formed on his neck and dripped down into the collar of his trenchcoat. Just as he felt that he couldn't take it anymore, Gaz smirked and turned away. Dib sighed with relief as his sister headed for the kitchen, looking for food now that her mission was complete. Her unspoken threat was now firmly implanted in Dib's mind.

There was a thud and a squeak from behind Dib, and the boy looked over his shoulder. Zim had fallen off of the couch. Dib sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Zim, you're an idiot."

* * *

Brought to you by your internet service provider.

Not really based off of anything in this chapter, either. It's the necessary transition chapter. I didn't like writing this chapter. And Dib still isn't very fun to write, though I might be able to change that over the course of the story.

It's kinda funny. I say pairings are unsure, and someone asks that there be no ZADR. I make this public, and a few people are crushed. Others are thrilled that this is a romance-less story. As for me, well, I'm just going chapter by chapter. This is fun.

Because she does this, she just keeps talking. I wonder if anybody can name where these are coming from…


	4. Settling In

_"Pleased to meet you_

_Hope you guess my name"_

_---_

Zim. A name. An identity. And it was his. Well, according to Dib it was, anyway. No one had suggested anything else as helpful. Then again, he hadn't really talked to anyone else.

He was disappointed, though. He had hoped that, just maybe, he would remember everything if he found out what his name was. Like finding the right key to a door that held back a flood of pink jelly. Unfortunately, there was no great jelly flood of memories. Not even a jelly puddle. Just the stark knowledge that he had something to call himself by now.

"Garglenarf."

Zim lifted his face off of the carpet, spitting out a piece of fuzz. He glared at Dib as though it was his fault that he had fallen off of the couch. "Dib, you have carpet fuzzies," he remarked dryly. Dib raised an eyebrow.

"I wouldn't know, considering that I don't usually go around trying to eat the floor," he replied. "Why were you after the lamp?"

Zim frowned. "'Cos it was staring at me," he said simply. He began to push himself up into a sitting position, but stopped with a yelp when it came to putting weight on his right leg. He glared at the offending limb. "Ow. I think I made my leg worse by going after the icky-headed lamp." He wiggled his fingers menacingly at said lamp.

"Great. This is wonderful," Dib complained, running a hand through his hair. Zim stifled a snicker, placing a hand on his throat when it hurt but still grinning. Dib was going to go bald if he kept doing that. He quickly wiped away the grin when Dib looked over at him, frowning.

"Alright. I'll go and get the stuff needed to bandage you up. You can't continue running around here with your leg still broken," he said. Zim nodded, slightly confused on how he could run around with a broken leg but saying nothing. "I'll only be gone for a few minutes so just _stay here._"

Zim pouted at him, but shrugged. "Whatever," he said. Dib didn't seem to hear him, dashing up a nearby staircase and leaving Zim alone in the living room.

Zim frowned. Wha was he supposed to do now? Looking down at the carpet, he lifted his lip in disgust. The floor was covered in fuzzies and, because he had fallen on the floor, he was covered in fuzzies too. The word "filth" rose to mind, and he was inclined to agree. He picked the lint off of his body and then, using the coffee table for leverage, lifted himself onto the couch. He grinned triumphantly; there wouldn't be anymore filth getting on _him_.

The couch was surprisingly soft, and he amused himself for a few moments by snuggling as deep into the cushions as he could go. He allowed his eyelids to droop, indulging in the exhaustion that had been steadily building up since he had woken up without a memory. For a moment, he was content.

He was almost asleep when something soft suddenly landed on his stomach, startling him into sitting up and letting out a yell. Momentarily disoriented, his eyes darted around before landing on a somewhat disgruntled Dib standing next to the couch. Zim blinked at him stupidly a few times before looking down at what Dib had thrown onto his stomach. It was a set of clothes, a black shirt and a pair of pajama-like pants. He picked up the shirt curiously, revealing the picture of an evilly grinning green smiley face on the front. One antenna raised in mild amusement.

"What's this for?" he asked, further inspecting the clothes. The pants weren't as interesting as the shirt. Dib sighed and pointed at Zim's torn and ash-covered top.

"You can't keep wearing that or you'll get an infection. Now take it off so I can clean your injuries," he replied stiffly, avoiding eye contact with Zim. Zim raised an antenna again, but shrugged and pulled the filthy garment over his head without hesitation. He tossed it away and inspected his own body curiously.

"Hey look, I'm not bleeding anymore!" he said cheerfully, poking one of the bruises on his chest. "Ow."

"Well you do heal fast," Dib said, inspecting a burn on Zim's shoulder. "But that makes sense." When he didn't say anything else Zim looked at him curiously, but Dib merely shrugged. He backed up and grabbed a brown bottle that Zim hadn't noticed before off of the coffee table, unscrewing the cap and picking up an equally unnoticed piece of gauze. He dumped a small amount of clear liquid onto the gauze pad and the strong smell of alcohol filled the air, causing Zim's antennae to flatten in reflex. Dib gave him a flat look. "Don't complain. You could get an infection if your injuries aren't cleaned, and I can't use water on you," he said. Without waiting for another comment or question, he pressed the alcohol-soaked gauze against the burn on Zim's shoulder.

That proved to be a bad idea.

Zim yelled as the liquid came into contact with the injury, knocking Dib's arm away and sending the gauze flying. He scooted backwards at the same time, his back hitting the back of the couch. He was only momentarily deterred, scrabbling up the fabric and away from Dib. Feeling momentarily safe out of Dib's reach, he took the opportunity to hiss down at him like a cat. That had hurt, dammit!

"What's going on in here?"

Zim ceased his animal-like noises as he heard Gaz speak. The commotion in the living must have attracted her attention, for she now stood in the doorway to the kitchen with one eyebrow raised and a scowl on her face. The expression became worse when she noticed the brown bottle sitting innocently on the coffee table. "You put alcohol on a burn?"

"Well what else do you suggest I use? I can't use water!" Dib complained, earning another hiss from the distressed Zim.

"Zim, shut up," Gaz said, and he instantly obeyed. Instead he looked on curiously as she turned her attention to her brother. "Dib, he probably doesn't need your 'help'. For all you know it might be impossible for Zim to get an infection. Just stick a cast on him and get out of here. You're giving me a headache." Gaz turned as if to return to the kitchen, then paused and shot Dib one more glare over her shoulder. "Before you go stupid and ask, use one of Dad's instant casts." Then she stomped back to the kitchen. Dib ran a hand through his hair and pouted.

"I wasn't gonna ask," he muttered to himself. Gaz heard him anyway.

"Yeah right, you loser!" she called from the kitchen. Zim snickered as he slid back down onto the couch cushions. He grinned evilly at Dib, who raised an eyebrow at him.

"Aren't you trusting?" he commented dryly as he dug around in the pile of bandages he had dropped on the end of the coffee table. Zim smiled slyly, picking up the black shirt again and letting his fingers play with it.

"I've just figured out that you won't disobey a direct order from Gaz," he said. Dib glanced up from his searching and glared at him.

"Put a shirt on, you nudist," he said bluntly. Zim didn't know what a nudist was, but he stuck his tongue out at Dib anyway. He then pulled the shirt he had been playing with over his head. It was too big for his slim frame, fitting over the metal thing on his back without being tight on his chest at all. The collar kept threatening to slip off of one of his shoulders too, and he tugged at the material impatiently. Before he could mess with it any further, though, he was distracted by Dib holding something up triumphantly.

"Taa-daa!" he exclaimed. Zim stared at it.

"…It's a boot," he said finally. The boot looked like it came up to the knee, and was made of some kind of padded material. There were buckles all the way up the leg, and an opening at the tip for a person's toes to stick out. The whole think was a stark, sterile white color, except for the navy blue lining.

"No, it's an Instant Cast," Dib explained. "It works like a normal cast, but lets you walk around without having to use crutches."

"But…why is it so ugly?" Zim complained, causing Dib to roll his eyes.

"Don't be picky," Dib said. Zim pouted.

"I want a red one."

"It only comes in white. Now-" Dib broke off mid-sentence, looking like he had just realized something. Zim raised an antenna. He was getting tired of Dib doing that.

"What?" he asked impatiently. Dib didn't answer, avoiding eye contact. Zim glared at him. "_What?_"

"Well, to get the cast on right, you're going to have to, um, take your pants off," Dib said, getting quieter with each word and still avoiding eye contact. From the kitchen came the sound violent coughing; apparently Gaz had heard her brother. Zim's other antenna raised and he blinked.

"'Kay…" he looking down at his feet, pulling his left leg up so he could get the boot off. The boot was dropped uncaringly to the floor. Zim then turned his attention to his broken right leg.

"I…I don't think I can do this by myself," he said, staring at his foot for a moment before looking at Dib. Dib bit his lip, apparently thinking for a moment before nodding. He walked over and knelt down on the floor, glaring up at Zim as he gently grabbed his foot.

"If you kick me, you're sleeping on the roof," he threatened. Zim just grinned brightly, waving at Dib reassuringly. His other hand was a tightly clenched fist in his lap.

"Don't worry!" he said cheerfully. Dib stared at him for a moment, then turned back to the task at hand. He didn't move for a few moments, and Zim was about to ask him what he was doing when he suddenly pulled the boot off in one quick motion. Zim's eyes widened in surprise. A second later and the pain invaded his brain, and he held back both a yelp and the urge to kick Dib in the face.

"That wasn't so bad, now was it?" Dib asked cheerfully, his only reply being a glare from Zim. He shrugged the look off, standing up and offering Zim a hand. "Come on. We still have to, ah-" He went silent for lack of something better to say. Zim rolled his eyes and took the offered hand, using it to pull himself up. He kept one hand on the couch for balance.

"Now what?" Zim asked. Dib ran a hand through his hair.

"Well…" he started. He was avoiding Zim's eyes again. Zim sighed.

"Oh for-" he said. The next word was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't remember what it was. He couldn't think of anything else to fill in the blank, either. So he improvised. Sorta. "-for something's sake, Dib, just keep me from falling over."

Without waiting for a response he let go of the couch. Zim tried to balance on his left foot, which only worked for about half a second. Dib reacted instinctively, grabbing Zim by the shoulder to prevent him from falling over. Now supported with both of his hands free, Zim quickly unfastened his pants. He pulled them down to his knees and revealed the pair of solid black shorts underneath.

"Okay…" Dib said from beside him, and Zim gave him a flat look.

"What? Did you think I wasn't wearing anything else?" he asked, one antenna raised. Dib's expression told him all that he needed to know, and he scoffed. Dib glared at him.

"Oh shut up and sit down," Dib said, pushing gently on the shoulder he was holding. Off balanced, Zim wobbled for a moment, then flopped back down onto the couch. He glared at Dib as he pulled Zim's pants the rest of the way off.

"Now-the ugly cast thing?" Zim asked hopefully. Dib shook his head in response, inspecting Zim's fractured leg.

"Not yet. We've got to make sure that everything is straight. It would be better if I could get an X-ray of it.." he trailed off.

"Nuu!" Zim yelled suddenly, glaring at Dib. "Zim is tired. Zim's leg hurts. And if Dib doesn't put the stupid cast-thing on Zim _right now_, he will spend the rest his life with that pointy lamp shoved through his head!" Dib stared at him.

"Fine, I won't X-ray you! It's a bad idea to put a cast on someone without knowing if the bones are lined up properly, though," Dib huffed, picking up the Instant Cast. "Considering how fast you heal, you might wind up with a twisted leg." Zim shrugged.

"Don't care. Now put that stupid ugly boot-thing on my leg so I can go to sleep in Dib's house," he declared, pointing at said leg and causing Dib to roll his eyes.

"Don't expect that you'll get a bed," Dib commented, kneeling down and unbuckling the Instant Cast. "We don't have any guest bedrooms, and I'm not letting you stay down here unsupervised."

"Well then, where-ow!" Zim started, breaking off suddenly. Dib had shoved his foot into the bottom part of the cast and was now fastening the buckles that would hold it in place. Zim glared at him for a moment, then continued. "Where _am_ I sleeping?"

"My room, I guess," Dib replied. He stood up and brushed carpet fuzzies off of his trenchcoat. "There."

Zim, ecstatic, immediately leapt to his feet. With the aid of the cast he was able to stand, and he took a few experimental steps.

"It still hurts," he said, frowning. "Dib, you fail as a…as a repair man for Zim!"

Dib gave him a flat look. "It's called a doctor, Zim. And of course it's still going to hurt. Your leg is still broken." Dib began walking towards the stairs Zim had seen earlier. "Now come on if you want a place to sleep tonight."

That was enough to get Zim following him. Walking in the cast was awkward, as it was about half an inch higher off of the floor then his bare foot, but he managed. Stair were even trickier, and involved a lot of little hops on his good leg. Dib was waiting for him at the top of the stairs. He pointed out the few doors as the walked, or in Zim's case limped, up the small hallway.

"That's the bathroom right there. That one is Gaz's room; don't go in there unless you want your spine broken along with your leg. That's a closet. And this is my room."

Zim looked at the door curiously. There were several posters on the outsides of it, depicting weird and somewhat ridiculous things. An antenna raised in question, and he glanced over at Dib. Dib appeared to be thinking hard about something.

"Hang on a second. I need to put some stuff up," he said, grabbing the doorknob and glancing back at Zim. "Why don't you go back to the closet and grab a pillow and some blankets for yourself?"

Zim blinked, then shrugged and watched as Dib slipped into his room. After staring at the door dumbly for a few moments, his mind prodded him into action and he lurched off back down the hallway towards the closet. The closet turned out to contain several blankets and spare pillows in varying styles and colors. Zim leisurely pulled a maroon blanket from the middle of the stack, causing most of the others on top of it to fall out of the closet as well. Then, being lazy, he grabbed the nearest squishy-looking pillow and tried to shut the door. Due to the blankets spilling into the hall it wouldn't close, and with a shrug he left the mess how it was. He dragged his prizes back to Dib's door and knocked on it. The door opened almost instantly, and Zim nearly smacked Dib in the face. Dib frowned at him for a moment before opening the door completely.

"Come on in, I guess," he said as Zim pushed past him.

Zim first impression of the room was rather typical. There was a bed, a window, a desk with an idle computer on it, and a bookshelf. There were weird posters all over the walls, and a telescope set up by the window. Zim made an odd happy squeaking noise, limping over to the center of the room and dumping his stuff on the floor. He flopped down onto the pile and grabbed the pillow, hugging it to his chest as he looked around.

"So this is Dib's room," he said idly. He snuggled into his pillow happily. "I like it. It's very Dib-like."

"I would think so, considering it _is_ my room," Dib said. Zim missed the scowl he sent, though. He had already curled up underneath the maroon blanket, letting the stress and exhaustion of the day carry him into blissful unconsciousness.

---

Sponsored by the Worldwide Procrastinator's Society. "Procrastinators unite - _tomorrow!_"

Yes, yes I know. This took forever. But I have excuses! First, this chapter is somewhat over three times longer then the previous chapters. Second, I write every chapter before I type it. Almost every single page of this chapter was rewritten at _least_ once, and most were done twice! And finally, I was on holiday. Nothing gets done during a break, you know.

Long chapter, lots of stuff to tell. Because I know somebody will say it, I'll answer the whole "sleeping" deal now. I have a theory that all Irken foods are made of some sort of substances that are completely converted into energy by the Irken's Pak. Then I have a fan-theory to use off of that. When an Irken doesn't eat for a while, he runs out of energy. Sleeping restores some of that energy. Also, Zim can heal while he sleeps. 'Cos I say so.

Alright, read up! To all the people out there who are reading this 'cos you thought it was a ZADR or hoped it might become one, there's the closest it'll get. Dib telling Zim to take his pants off. Go fantasize about that and get the hell out of here. I don't want people with the wrong impression reading this. The genre is _Drama/Action/Adventure_, and if I had a third slot I'd put Humor. There's no Romance in here, so don't read this with romance in mind. To all of you who are glad there's no love, feel free to laugh at Dib being uncomfortable. I'll shut up now.

O.o Very little amount of proofing. Beware!

Because, because, because, because, _because_….because of the wonderful things he does!

P.S.: I've been banned off the net until the end of the schoool year (this is my secert ninja logging on skill I'm using right now). Anyways, the next update is a little hazy on time. Sorry. ;.; I miss my fanfictions so bad...


	5. What's my Game

_"But what's puzzling you_

_Is the nature of my game"_

---

Dib couldn't believe his luck. His greatest enemy and the ultimate threat to all mankind, captured without any bloodshed on his part. Finally, he had irrefutable proof of the existence of aliens, and it was sleeping peacefully on his bedroom floor.

He had to report this to the Swollen Eyeballs.

Being careful not to disturb Zim, Dib went to his desk and plopped his butt into his computer chair. He moved the mouse slightly, and the screen saver running rampant on the monitor disappeared. He clicked on the little icon that would connect him with one of the other agents stationed around the globe. It was only a few moments before the silhouette of Agent Darkbooty appeared on the screen.

_"Agent Mothman, I hope you have a good reason for calling at this hour,"_ Darkbooty growled. Dib glanced at the digital clock on his nightstand and winced; 2:17 AM.

"A very good reason, Agent Darkbooty. I've captured the alien," Dib said proudly, allowing himself a smug grin. On the other end of the line Darkbooty was giving him a scrutinizing look.

_"Are you certain this time?"_ he asked. If Dib wasn't so elated he would have winced again. Once he had thought he had captured Zim, but it turned out to be merely a head-sized mutated slug beast. That had been embarrassing.

"Take a look," Dib said, rolling his computer chair to the side so Agent Darkbooty could see the alien curled up on the floor. There were a few seconds that Dib used to silently gloat to himself before Darkbooty spoke again.

_"This is a wonderful turn of events, Agent Mothman!"_ he finally said. _"Real evidence of life on other planets. Now we can prove the existence of aliens to the world." _The silhouette steepled its fingers in front on its chin. _"I'm curious to know how you finally captured it."_

"There was an explosion at his base," Dib explained. "He was injured and couldn't get away." Dib didn't mention that Zim was missing almost his entire memory. If the Swollen Eyeballs knew that their evidence couldn't even remember that he was evidence, they wouldn't take Dib as seriously as they needed to. Besides, Dib was confident that he could get enough of Zim's memory back to warrant an autopsy. Agent Darkbooty seemed satisfied with the short answer, nodding in agreement.

_"I'll contact the other Swollen Eyeball agents and inform them of this. In the meantime, make sure that the specimen doesn't escape. Darkbooty out._" With that the transmission was cut.

Dib sighed, leaning back in the computer chair and running a hand through his hair. He was confident Darkbooty would handle everything up to the point where Zim was actually revealed to be an alien. All Dib had to do was to make sure Zim didn't escape before then.

Easier said then done, given Zim's escape record would put Houdini to shame.

Still, Dib was confident. Zim didn't have reason why he shouldn't trust Dib, at least not yet. Dib would still have to partially restore Zim's memories to present him to the Swollen Eyeballs and later, to the world, as proof. That was the challenging part. No memories meant no proof, but knowing about his mission could cause Zim to try to escape. It was a dangerous predicament.

One that was best solved after a good night's sleep.

Yawning widely, Dib vacated the computer chair in favor of heading for his bed. He walked around the useless lump sleeping on the floor, shedding his trenchcoat and shoes and flopping down on the bed. Tomorrow was Saturday; he could change clothes then. He pulled his glasses off and set them on the mattress to his side, too tired to put them where they belonged on his night stand. Dib briefly considered the wisdom of sleeping unprotected in the same room as a slightly deranged Irken Invader, but the thought was cut off as he yawned again.

As he said to himself before; everything could be dealt with tomorrow.

---

5-9-07: Brought to you by the past. Greetings, friends!

Song of the moment: Thnks Fr Th Mmrs by Fall Out Boy.

I've been banninated from the Internet for about two weeks now. My brain is going slightly insane, seeing as I'm an avid reader and was slowly "starving" without new stuff to read; new fan fics to be exact. I didn't really want to, but I've been forced to turn to the real world fiction. 'S not like I don't _like_ it, it's just that I have a habit of working on whatever I'm reading at the time. If I'm reading fanfiction, I'm working on fan fic ideas. If I read some fiction novels, I want to work on original stuff. I've got that urge in my head to write something original as I type these words, but five years of writing experience has taught me that any idea started just after finishing a book has a painfully short life span. "Inspiration ideas", as I've so lovingly dubbed them because they were inspired off of something else.

Inspiration of the week? Two books by a man named Obert Skye. _Leven Thumps and the Gateway to Foo_, and its sequel, _the Whispered Secret._ Is it sad that your favorite character in a book is a walking, talking, mildly enchanted toothpick? Even if he's a really _cool_ toothpick? I thought so. Check these books out if you're into fantasy, y0. They're great, as Mr. Skye has an interesting writing style.

Okay, adding over. I'm so sad without you guys. And I _am_ working on this fic! I have one and a half of its next chapters written, they just need typing. Also, I'm borrowing a character from **Cyanide and Insomnia**'s _Plinth_ and _Avarice_(for a little while) that is helping me work through the beginning of chapter 7 of Shades of Purple. Or shall I say, chapter 11? -snicker- Rewrite and chapter breaking for a better flowing and easier to read fic. Expect to see changes around, well, around when you're reading this!

5-28-07: Check out the wonderful fic of **HellHasLeftmeLost**, _A Cry For Help? _!

I love you all!

And Dib is still a pain to write. All 670 words of him.

Because optimism is lying with a smile!


End file.
